The Echoes Of Yesterday

The Echoes Of Yesterday…..by Samayel

Chapter 9: Good Advice


Those first days before Draco’s schooling began in earnest were quite pleasant. Harry only really saw Draco at breakfast, seated quietly at a table near the back of the room, and on two occasions in the library. When Monday came around, Harry would begin tutoring, and he was thankful for the time to build a suitable curriculum for his protégé.

John Prewett provided potions that soothed Harry’s nerves admirably, and it was a safe prediction that, by the end of the week, Harry would be able to put aside the whiskey for good, and sleep better than he had before. The potions were fairly complicated, and merely masked Harry’s dreams from his conscious mind, allowing him to sleep without waking and remember nothing, though his dreams would go on unabated. Harry could never have brewed such things alone, and it was a fortunate thing that Prewett had the experience that he did. Additionally, the potion for Harry’s liver was ready at last, and would be administered every week for a month, but the taste was abominable, and Harry already dreaded the month to come. Still, he was already down to a single, large glass of drink each night, and in a few days he’d be ready for none at all.

Despite his best hopes for a perfect transition to dream free slumber, nagging memories and images had haunted his early mornings lately. Nothing too terrible, given that some of his dreams were downright frightening, but these were still stressful, especially given what he was soon to undertake with Draco’s heir. The last few days had taunted Harry with wispy images of Draco. His Draco, still tall and young and proud, staring intently at Harry through mists and whispering words that couldn’t quite be made out. He’d heard his own name though, spoken with the affection he remembered from the best of the times he’d had. That was enough to wake Harry from sound slumber, sweating profusely, fighting the urge to tear up in spite the many years that had passed.

So little time. What he’d felt then had been so passionate, almost violent in its own soft way. He’d never loved…until Draco had cracked open a lonely heart that was hungrier for closeness than Harry had even imagined. He had taken such pleasure from that time, so much joy in every small thing. He’d felt truly, wildly, desperately alive…and then it was gone, and the emptiness he’d felt had left him a broken and terrified creature, scared of letting anyone else into his heart, and terrified of letting anything dilute the strength of what he’d felt for Draco Malfoy. The only way to convince himself that his feelings were pure and real had been to hang onto them, never letting anything strip them from him, and he’d done just that. Now all he had were those memories, but they made it hard to keep a proper perspective on Draco’s son.

Young Draco had been quiet and reserved, if a little stiff, for the entire weekend, and Harry could tell that the young man was very uncomfortable in his new environment. He’d meant to talk about it before their first class together, but his first therapy meeting with John took precedence.

They passed it off as a meeting to discuss the needs of students, covering for Harry admirably, but it still felt strange to sit in a chair across from John Prewett, sipping tea and chatting idly while the man nudged the conversation into more controversial territory. The questions didn’t come in any order, or with any great pressure behind them, but Harry realized a pattern was emerging, simply encouraging him talk about subjects that seemed unrelated at first, but ultimately guided him toward feelings and memories he’d never discussed. Even though he knew what John was trying to do, Harry was uncomfortable with the entire process, and though he’d made up his mind to think of things he may have repressed, he didn’t offer up any information that John didn’t ask about directly.

After a single session like that, thinking of what to do with Draco was easy by comparison. Monday evening came, and after seeing Draco sit quietly through Harry’s fifth year class, staring intently at Harry or scribbling notes all the while, it was time for them to begin their work before dinner. Draco waited until the class was dismissed, then followed Harry into the office, taking his seat with a restless eagerness.

“Well, I gave due thought to our conversation, and since you mentioned the differences between our curriculum and Durmstrang’s, I have decided on a good way to start your studies. We need to know what we can offer you that you haven’t already learned. You’ve been provided with copies of our standard book of spells for seventh year students, but I have laid aside the books for all the earlier years. I want you to undertake a search of each book, and prepare for me a list of every spell that you find unfamiliar, complete with the instructions for its use and purpose. When you have completed all seven books, bring me the list, cross referenced by year and spell name, and we shall begin our work with those.

“When we begin that work, we will also take time to practice those spells which you already know, just to get a feel for your relative competence with them, and to keep existing skills fresh. Nothing too complicated, but a bit time consuming. I’ll leave you to complete it at your leisure, but I still expect you to meet the requirements in your other classes, and appear in my classes as scheduled. Understood?”

Draco nodded somberly. “Yes. I am sure I can handle this. I think it is a good start. Professor? If I may ask a question?”

“Please do.”

“The others…some of the children here…they keep trying to talk to me. Some were upset when I made it clear that I did not want company. I do not want this place to be like Durmstrang…I do not want to cause problems, but I do not want their company and they ask bothersome questions. What should I do?”

Harry paused. That wasn’t a conversation he’d predicted. He’d imagined some nebulous difficulty with Draco’s attitude eventually, but a blunt request for advice had thrown him off.

“Well…young people can be very fickle. They get emotional over things that might not seem important to you or me. Sometimes their feelings are hurt just by a simple rejection that wasn’t intended to harm. I might suggest just talking to them…even if it’s a bit uncomfortable for you. Or if someone’s feelings are already hurt, try apologizing to them and phrasing your desire to be alone in a less direct way. It might soothe things over.”

“I am to be responsible for others’ emotions? I didn’t want to be bothered by them in the first place. Why should someone be hurt by my wishing to study instead of chatter mindlessly?”

Draco’s faint irritation was amusing for Harry, though it was obviously more of a legitimate problem for Draco. Harry put his best foot forward, trying to remember the hundreds of spats between students he’d smoothed over during the last decade.

“I feel very much the same about it, and I think it speaks well of you that you’ve already seen the silliness of it all. That’s a sentiment usually only found in people of maturity, but there’s a bit more to it than that. You spent your years at Durmstrang with no close associates…am I right?”

Draco’s mouth opened, then closed. He looked faintly pink and stared at the table for a bit longer than Harry had expected. Something suggested that he wasn’t entirely comfortable with where this was going.

“I…no. You’re right. I spent my time with my studies.”

“Well, friends are a blessing, but they don’t happen by accident. My friends saved my life any number of times years ago. To have a friend, you have to share some of yourself, and you have to let them share some of themselves. People who try to get close to you don’t always mean ill, and the students are bound to be curious about someone new who studied in a foreign land. I’ll bet anything that they’re just sorting out whether they want you for a friend or not, and to do that, they start by talking to you about small things, just to see how you react.

If you give them a chance, you might be able to find a few people in your classes that have a similar appreciation for academic endeavor. Just talk to them about the class work at first, or about Durmstrang if they’re curious. It might seem odd at first, but it won’t do you any harm. You can always decide later about whether they should share your feelings or private thoughts.”

Draco’s eyes held a hint of concern. He was mulling something over. “Some ‘friends’ aren’t worth making. How would I tell them apart? I don’t want to be burdened with endless requests for conversation from people I might later I decide are of no worth. It’s easier to just stick with my studies, and decide for myself who I wish to associate with.”

Harry sensed a bitterness that ran deeper than Draco was saying. “That’s a risk everyone takes. It’s the price for eventually finding the friends you keep. The only thing to remember is that ALL people are flawed. We all make mistakes. Me…Hermione…the Headmistress…you. Everyone is different. No one is perfect, and sometimes people do cruel or foolish things, like saying something hurtful, or ignoring someone that deserves better than that, before we realize what we’re doing. Try not to judge others too harshly for being human. It isn’t always easy. If I know anything at all, it’s from making mistakes and learning from them. I’ve just had a bit more time to sit back and think about them than you have. Be patient, or learn to be patient, and just maybe you’ll find some people here that make good company.”

Draco looked terribly serious, absorbing the words carefully, then pulled the stack of books on the desk to him.

“I will try. I am sorry I bothered you with something so small. May I be excused? I have a lot to study.”

“Very well, but don’t short change yourself. If you have a question, however small it might seem, feel free to ask it. I’ll see in you the usual classes, and after if you have any questions. You are excused.”

Harry paused a moment, thinking about what he’d said while Draco left the room. He’d meant it all, but it was an uncomfortable reminder of what he’d hidden from the people he called friends. Could he really look at the things he’d kept to himself and still say that he’d shown trust to Ron and Hermione and Neville? It was discomforting as hell.

Hermione had agreed to visit in a few days, and he’d agreed to keep her arrival time a secret so that Draco would be focused on his studies instead of her visit. Perhaps, after the initial meeting, just maybe he ought to talk to Hermione…about some things. Maybe not all…not yet…but a few. Just to test the waters for later. Hermione and Ron were very dear to Harry, and the idea of offending them or frightening them with the things he’d done…it was terrifying. It wasn’t hard to imagine outrage or shock…or even disgust. The idea of never setting foot into their home again was frightening enough, but John Prewett had driven home his point.

Harry needed to talk about the past. Badly. Young Draco was a walking reminder of it all, and the feelings that this evoked in Harry needed to be vented carefully and under appropriate circumstances. That would have to do.

He’d given Draco Malfoy some good advice, but would he be able to follow it himself?


TBC!!!